


Men of Boulders

by Liadt



Category: The Black Shield of Falworth (1954)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, a hint of Anne/Myles, gen or possibly pre-slash, injuries, it's only a flesh wound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:05:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: Sir James is injured and Myles rides to the rescue.Neither of these two should be in a hurt/comfort fic, but here they are;)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SugarGlassShards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarGlassShards/gifts).



> Happy Eggtide to SugarGlassShards, I hope you enjoy this spring treat.
> 
> Thanks to evelyn_b for the fantastic beta:D

“A search party? Out of the question. Sir James is accompanying the Prince. A journey that, more often than not, ends in the alehouse. Sir James will resurface when his majesty releases him from his duty. Now get back to your quarters,” said Walter Blunt. He leaned back in his chair and lifted a goblet of wine. 

Myles stood facing Blunt, across the training room table. He kept his arms hanging loosely by his side as he balled his hands into fists. He wanted to kick over the table, knock Blunt's drink from his hand, and grab his tunic, the better to punch him in the face. For once, Myles restrained himself and didn't try to solve his predicament with a fight. 

“And that’s that?” said Myles, insolently.

Blunt flicked his fingers to indicate Myles was dismissed. As he left the room, Myles slammed the door as a protest.

“Well?” asked Francis, who had been waiting for Myles out in the corridor.

“Blunt is of the opinion Sir James will be well into his cups by order of Prince Hal.”

“Sir James drinking with the Prince of Wales? The old bear would turn the prince into a model of sobriety with his demeanor. Even looking at his attire would put the prince off a bawdy night. I can’t see Prince Hal ordering Sir James to drink with him.”

“I don’t believe it either.”

“And Sir James roaring drunk is not something I’d want to imagine. He’s terrifying enough without any ale inside him,” said Francis. “There’s not going to be a rescue party?”

“No. I’d wager Blunt is hoping Sir James won’t come back. Then he can take over as training master and throw me out.”

“Blunt’s devious, I agree, but he can’t take over, not a chief of esquires. In any case, the Earl has the final say on who stays in his service.”

Myles snorted; the Earl had shown him little favour since he’d arrived at Mackworth Castle.

“There is sense in not riding out - it’ll be dark soon.”

“I guess.” Myles kicked moodily at a loose buckle on the floor. He hated doing nothing. “If you want me, I’ll be in the library.”

“Don’t get caught,” cautioned Francis.

Myles went through the library and straight out the other door. Taking a circular route to the stables, he told a groom he had a message to deliver to the prince and rode out to find Sir James. He couldn’t shake the feeling something untoward had happened, and he wasn’t going to ignore it.

The Prince of Wales, Myles knew, had set off for Rookton in the morning. Sir James was to escort the prince and his entourage to the border of Mackworth before returning. The road crossed rough terrain, but it wasn't a long ride. Meg had told him about the races she'd had with Lady Anne there and back. He also knew the road to Rookton well. He had traveled to the market there with Dickon. Mindful of the approach of sunset, Myles urged his horse into a fast trot along the road.

****

Myles came into a rocky ravine, deep in the Rookton hills. The ground was churned up and there were bright red splashes of blood on the grass. His heart in his mouth, he kicked his mount forward. Finding nothing up ahead, he returned to the ravine in the fading light. Examining the ground from horseback, his imagination ran wild. Had Sir James been caught up in this disturbance? Was he safely in Rookton, or in the hills hiding from attackers - or worse? Coming across a trail of flattened bracken, Myles decided to find out who had crushed the vegetation, be they bandits or fleeing innocents.

Myles made his way up the side of the ravine, through scrubby trees, across the top of a hill and down towards a rocky depression in the hillside. He reined his horse to a halt. There was no more flattened vegetation to follow, just bare rock. The water from a tiny brook splashed his horse’s hooves. Myles looked down, concerned the animal could loose its footing on the scree. There was nothing else of interest, until Myles' gaze fell upon a black-clad figure lying face down.

“Sir James!” exclaimed Myles. 

Sir James was lying partly in the stream. Myles feared the water that flowed over his back might have filled his lungs. Myles vaulted off his horse (exactly the way Sir James had told him not to) and scrambled down to the bottom of the dip. Crouching close, he wrestled Sir James face up. It was not an easy task, although an older man, Sir James was powerfully built. Sir James remained still and his one good eye was shut.

“Sir James, Sir James,” said Myles, splashing water on to Sir James’ face. When that didn’t work, Myles slapped him. He’d rather not, as even out cold, Sir James was an imposing figure, but he couldn't think of another way to revive him.

Sir James' left hand caught Myles' arm in an iron grip. "What are you doing, you oaf?” 

“You’re alive!” Myles was overjoyed.

“Of course I’m alive.”

“I thought bandits had killed you.”

“I was merely resting after dealing with the ruffians who tried to rob the prince’s party.”

“Do you regularly take forty winks in a stream?” said Myles without thinking.

“I rolled over in my sleep.”

“Wouldn't the chill of the water have woken you up?”

“I've slept on worse spots on campaign. I've learned to ignore discomfort in favour of sleep. I wish I could say the same for stupid questions.” For extra measure, Sir James glared at Myles.

Myles didn't take the hint. Sir James had a nasty gash on his forehead that was hard to ignore. “You’re hurt.”

“I have suffered a couple of trifling injuries, but nothing in comparison to the bandits who have suffered the graver injury of being permanently incapacitated. They sought to escape his majesty’s justice after defeat. I made chase and in their desperation to escape they rode over a cliff. I was making my way back when a bird flew out of the bushes and alarmed my steed. He threw me down here. Now take me back to Mackworth; your mount will be able to carry both of us.” 

Myles glanced up the incline. In his haste to dash to Sir James' aid, he had neglected to secure his mount. "It's gone. If I can't find it, I can carry you back."

“I am no invalid, don’t be ridiculous, and it’s getting too dark to travel by foot. And how many times have I told you not to go blindly rushing in like a mindless beast?”

“Often, sir.” Myles wondered why he had imagined Sir James might be dead. Lying in his arms, he was still the fiercest man he knew.

“This is no time for hanging your head, boy, catch your horse.”

“Yes, sir. Do you need any help getting up?”

“No, I do not.”

Watching Sir James struggle to his feet was painful to witness, yet Myles couldn't tear himself away. It was almost a relief when Sir James caught his foot in a tangle of grass. Before he could fall flat on his face, Myles caught hold of him and sat him on a boulder. Satisfied Sir James would be safe in his absence, Myles went to do as he'd been commanded.

****

As the sun set, Myles returned to Sir James. “I couldn’t find the horse, but there is a rocky overhang that we could use as a shelter for the night.”

“If we must,” said Sir James, with resignation. “Watching you dash about has worn me out.” 

Sir James limped forward. He was in no fit state to scramble over loose rocks in Myles’ opinion. Before he could object, Myles half-dragged, half-carried him up the slope to the overhang. This gave Myles a better idea of Sir James’ injuries. Apart from his head wound, his most serious injuries were an injured wrist (pulling at it had earned Myles a clout from Sir James' good hand) and possibly cracked ribs. The way Sir James reacted to Myles' arm around his back, Myles surmised, wasn't because Sir James couldn't abide him.

Myles was glad he had mentioned carrying Sir James before he knew how bad a state he was in. If he asked now, he was sure the older man would claim he could hop home. Under the overhang, Myles dropped Sir James to the ground. Sir James panted with exhaustion, while Myles wasn’t the least bit worn out by the climb. Once Sir James got his breath back, his teeth chattered and he shivered in his sodden clothes. Looking down at Sir James’ ashen face, Myles realised that Sir James was mortal after all – and he wasn't safe from death's embrace yet. 

“Take your clothes off,” said Myles, brusquely.

“What?” barked Sir James, in surprise. He was unused to being talked to in the manner he talked to his squires.

“You’ll catch a chill otherwise. One of the things I learned, when I had one set of clothes, was what to do after being soaked to the skin in the rain.”

“I shall do no such thing.”

“As you’ve told high-born esquires, what use is pride when you’re dead? You can wear my clothes to keep warm. I’ll build a fire to dry yours out.” Myles pulled his tunic and shirt over his head. 

Sir James grumbled at accepting Myles’ sensible suggestion and took off his hood and cloak. He was having difficulty with his other garments. Myles took action and aided him. Sir James would have fought back, but he was tangled up in wet clothing.

“I think you’ve divested me of enough garments for tonight,” said Sir James. Both men were down to their hose.

“Very well, but only to stop you from harrumphing at me,” said Myles.

“I was not doing anything of the sort. With your handling, you shouldn’t go near anyone if you don’t have a stick for them to bite on. I will have to make sure you learn some finesse.”

Myles was mortified. He would have apologised, if it didn't mean acknowledging that Sir James felt pain. He was determined to be a better nurse in future, if only to spare him from the prospect of extra lessons. If Meg was here she would know how to handle a patient – women were supposed to be good at these things. Although, Meg could be rough as any lad, he thought, as he remembered their childhood tussles. Despondent at his abilities, he thought nobody else could make Sir James as grumpy. Myles looked away from Sir James. He might not know what words to use, but he knew what had to be done.

Myles ripped the sleeve from his shirt. “That gash on your head needs bandaging..." 

“My head would do better if you kept away from it. I don’t trust you not to pull it off.”

“I need to learn how to tend wounds on the battlefield.”

“You’ll either survive or die once a battle is over. Minor wounds are simple to attend to.”

Myles’ own head was beginning to hurt. Getting others to do things without hitting them was hard. “I wouldn’t know. You say your wounds are minor and I need to learn about treating injuries sometime,” said Myles, telling a white lie. “You train your squires to be the best. I wouldn’t want to let you down.”

“I have a feeling you’ll wrestle me into bandages whether I want them or not.”

“That’s right.” Myles grinned and flexed his muscles.

Sir James shook his head, winced, and put his hand to it.

“I’ll start on your head.” Myles bandaged Sir James’ head, and didn’t do too bad a job of it, if he said so himself. Anything else that vaguely looked like a bruise he bandaged. While he did so, Sir James kept up a running commentary of what he should be doing in his ear. Mindful of his promise to be a better nurse, he carefully helped Sir James into what was left of his shirt. “See, I didn't pull any of your limbs off,” said Myles proudly, and made a sling.

“There’s still time. And put some clothes on. Youth is no protection against exposure.”

“I don’t need clothes. I’m going to be busy building a fire. As there’s little of my shirt left, you can wear my tunic too,” said Myles, cheerfully.

“Humpf. Ridiculous,” said Sir James. He yawned.

Had he tired him out? Should he worry about that? It would make life easier on his ears, thought Myles.

Once Sir James had his tunic on, Myles ventured out from under the overhang. It had turned dark, but a full moon lit the side of the hill. Retrieving Sir James’ sword from by the stream, he went looking for branches. A short while later, he came back with several sturdy pine branches, which he rested on the lip of their shelter to block out drafts. That done, he searched for dry grasses and sticks for a fire. Once he got the fire going, he sat down and passed greens he had foraged to Sir James.

“It’s not much, but I used to go out to pick wild herbs to add flavour to pottage.”

“You’re probably the only squire of mine who knows what’s safe to eat in the wilds. It’s as well I don't turn farm boys away or I would have frozen as well as starved to death tonight.”

Was Sir James complementing his efforts? Sir James had never praised him before and his words felt like effusive thanks.

“And now you have stopped rushing around, I’m not convinced you won’t freeze.”

“There’s a fire and I don’t feel the cold. Your clothes should dry out soon.”

“Not for several hours.” Sir James’ garments were made out of thick, heavy material that did not dry well. “I can’t fault your willingness to help, but I don't take to sitting around doing nothing.”

“It’s time we tried to get some sleep,” interjected Myles, putting the stress on ‘we’. Now there was some colour back in Sir James’ cheeks, Myles thought he would attempt to collect firewood.

“That was what I was about to say. Don’t interrupt your elders.”

“No, sir.”

“I can, however, do something by doing nothing.”

“Sir?”

“You may think I am made of cold iron, but I have body heat to spare. Sit close to me.”

“Yes, sir.” An order was an order. Myles huddled up to Sir James, who wrapped his free arm around him. It was an odd situation to be in - Sir James was his mentor and wasn't remotely cuddly. Myles didn't find it unpleasant being so close. He missed sharing a bed on cold nights, like he did back on the farm. The narrow, single bunks in the castle dormitory made sleeping in a room full of others a lonely experience. Myles yawned; he was getting tired too.

****

Myles woke up the next morning, his head resting on Sir James’ shoulder. He was perplexed at first, until he remembered and then he sat up straight. Sir James was woken by the movement. He looked confused too, then he scowled at Myles. 

“So, yesterday wasn’t a dream,” said Sir James. 

“Good morning, sir,” said Myles, trying to sound jovial.

“I suppose you’re going to spring into action and bring the cavalry?”

“If you want me to – oof!” In his desire to please, Myles had jumped up and banged his head on the rock ceiling.

“Now you know how I feel when confronted by the boundless energy of youth.” Sir James was amused, which Myles didn’t find fair, but he was glad the training master hadn’t gotten worse overnight.

“When you’re ready, I’ll help you walk back to the castle.”

Sir James wasn’t enthusiastic. “I can wait while you find a horse that hasn’t bolted from its rider.”

“I can’t leave you on your own. There could be ruffians waiting in the woods.”

“And? With my sword, I am a match for any ne'er-do-well. In any case, I doubt there will be any left after yesterday to trouble me.”

Suddenly, the two men fell quiet as they heard the sound of hoof-beats. Myles carefully moved to the front of their shelter. At the top of the slope, he saw two riders. They were Lady Anne and his sister, Meg. 

Myles rushed out. “My Lady! Meg!” he shouted.

“Myles, you’re all right!” shouted back Meg.

“More than all right. There’s certainly nothing wrong with him,” said Anne, eyeing Myles’ torso appreciatively.

Meg didn’t need to see Anne’s expression to understand what she meant. “Myles, what are you doing? Put some clothes on.”

“You’ve never complained before,” said Myles, in all innocence.

“I’m your sister, that’s different. Lady Anne, in case you’ve forgotten, is a noble lady.”

“Sir James has my tunic.”

“Sir James is with you? Thank heavens! You were right all along. A messenger came to the castle stables this morning. Lady Anne and I were getting ready for a ride. He told us the Prince of Wales had sent him to check if Sir James had returned home, after fighting off a band of outlaws. The Prince had assumed Sir James had gone back to the castle. My lady decided that as we were dressed for riding we should seek Sir James.”

“You should have waited for men-at-arms to accompany you,” said Myles.

“What for? The messenger boy said the bandits had been killed or thrown in jail,” said Anne. Her eyes flashed as she spoke, as if there was nothing more she desired than a run-in with an outlaw. Moreover, did Myles see a sword hilt glinting in the folds of her cloak? 

Sir James staggered out of the shelter, knocking pine branches to one side. “Good morning, gentle ladies. I see Myles’ sister has kept herself attached to her mount. Perhaps I should swap her for you, Myles.” 

“Sir James, what happened to you?” His bandages shocked Meg. 

“Myles happened to me.”

“He does have that effect,” said Anne, wryly.

“I could have lasted the night on my own,” claimed Sir James, not entirely convincingly. “But, for an impulsive young oaf, he didn’t fare too badly in keeping a crusty old knight out of trouble.”

Myles' heart was suffused with pride. He didn’t know if he could cope with any more praise from Sir James.


End file.
